


Young Strider

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Masturabation, Orgasm, Smut, Stridercest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re not jealous. You’re annoyed. You’re not desperate. You’re destructive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You’re mesmerized by the way black leather clashes with the paleness of his hand... and his cock. He’s wearing his sunglasses, you can’t see his eyes, but maybe he’s watching you. 

 

You doubt it. 

 

The phone is cradled between his ear and neck and he murmurs softly into the receiver and then licks his lips. He’s wearing a t-shirt, his fingerless gloves, and nothing else. His nipples are taut, stiff beneath the white cotton fabric. He moans, whispers a name you hate to hear, and cums. It spills down his hand, along his glove, a vibrant contrast that makes your dick twitch and strain against your jeans. He speaks gently, laughs softly, and reaches down for his discarded boxers. He uses them to wipe his hand and dick, quietly hissing when he grips himself, probably due to sensitivity. 

 

You walk away. 

 

You’re in the bathroom now, letting the hot water and steam massage you. Your rigid cock glides back and forth along the slick shower wall. You want to cum, but as punishment, you don’t allow yourself to. Instead, you continue to let the water pour over you. You think about making the temperature hotter, but there’s no point in that, really. When the burning pain subsides, your desires will be stronger than ever. 

 

You hate this. 

 

When you step out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around your waist, he’s there in the living room. He asks you if you’re interested in watching a movie with him. It’s one you haven’t seen before, but you _have_ seen the previews--an action packed drama riddled with irony and a soundtrack pregnant with the phattest of beats--hell fucking yeah, you’re interested. 

 

You decline. 

 

You make your way into your bedroom and collapse onto your bed. You press your face against the mattress and inhale. Your mind drifts to two days prior when he unexpectedly close-lined you and then proceeded to kick your ass, shoving you into the bed and holding you down until you gave up and acknowledged him as your superior. You remember how warm his skin felt, how muscles tensed and pressed against your struggling body. It was nothing. Just two bros wrestling. 

 

How you wish it’d been more. 

 

Before you know it, you’ve fallen into a dreamless sleep, but you awake to the sound of a familiar thump against your wall. You can hear their voices, more specifically you can hear _his_ voice. Bro isn’t too loud, but _he_ always is. 

 

You’re an American. Born and raised in the Lone Star State of Texas. You motherfucking hate English. 

 

And you don't mean the language.

 

You roll onto your stomach and force yourself to fall back to sleep. When you awake a second time, it’s from of the light pouring in through your bedroom window. You climb out of your bed and step out into the hallway. You smell the delicious aroma of a home cooked breakfast. You know English cooked it because the smoke alarm isn’t on. 

 

You step into the kitchen. Bro is at the table pouring syrup on a waffle. He’s not wearing his glasses, so when he looks up at you and smiles you can see his eyes. 

 

“Well, good morning there, young Strider,” English says in a tone so cheerful that it actually makes you cringe. “If you’re hungry, feel free to help yourself to whatever Dirk hasn’t shoved into his mouth.”

 

“Better be quick.  I can get a lot in there,” Bro says. 

 

English’s presence annoys you and the smell of his cooking makes your stomach growl. “I bet you can,” you say to Bro. You don’t politely decline the offer of good food. Instead, you grab a box of cereal, a bowl, a spoon, and the milk from the refrigerator and say, “Covered.” You’re rude and asshole. 

 

You don’t fucking care. 

 

“It’s good,” English says. 

 

“Not interested.”

 

Bro gives you a _look_ as you pour your cereal, but you pretend not to notice. After you’ve added the milk to your bowl, you use your spoon to crunch around the sugary flakes. You’re unnecessarily and obnoxiously loud, but neither Bro nor English says anything to you about it. Just as you begin to eat, English comes over to the table and sits between you and Bro. You furiously grip your spoon, stand, and then move into the living room. Bro doesn’t call for you to come back and he doesn’t follow you. 

 

You’re not surprised. 

 

Your cereal grows soggy and disgusting and you can’t bring yourself to eat anymore even though you’re still hungry. Your stomach growls again, angrily demanding that you appease it. 

 

You should’ve had a fucking waffle. 

 

You go back into the kitchen holding your bowl of soggy bullshit cereal. You glare at the thick, sugary, sludge as it plops into the garbage disposal. From the corner of your eye, you glance at the table and watch Bro playing a disgusting game of tonsil hockey with English. You humor yourself with the idea of throwing the ceramic bowl at their heads, but you know better than to actually act on it. Bro would kick you ass and you’ve witnessed English sitting in your backyard with Bro. You’ve watched him shoot empty bottles of booze with his Glock 19. 

 

You respect his aim. 

 

You walk back to your bedroom just in time to hear your cell phone ring. There’s no mistaking who’s calling you. You have customized ringtones and hearing Nicholas Cage’s ridiculous voice telling someone to, “Put the bunny back in the box” can only be one person. 

 

You snatch your phone off your dresser and answer it. 

 

“I’m shocked you managed to stay alive this long, Egbert.” 

 

“There you are,” John slurs into the phone. “I called you twice already.”

 

You shake your head. He’s clearly drunk. One of the perks of doing a year long internship in a country with a younger legal drinking age. “Well, here I am.”

 

“Dave I... I can’t stop thinking about you.”

 

You roll your eyes. You’ve been down this path several times before. Whenever John drinks he feels the need to express all these feelings that he isn’t sure he’s really having. You’ve clearly heard him tell someone else that he isn’t a “homosexual” but that never stops him from getting drunk and blabbering on and on about how much he wants to kiss you. 

 

“Go on.”

 

“The last time we talked,” John begins. “You said I could kiss you. Does that...” He pauses and you guess it’s to take another sip of whatever it is he’s drinking. “Does that offer still stand.”

 

It’s pretty pathetic when he gets like this, but you can’t stop yourself from letting him continue. “If that’s what you want.”

 

“Get online. Skype. Dave, get on Skype.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Just...” He pauses again. “Just _do_ it.”

 

You get on Skype. 

 

John immediately sends you an invitation for a video chat. You accept his invitation. You wait a few seconds while he adjusts his monitor. When he stops, you see him. He’s grinning, eyes glazed over behind his glasses. 

 

“Hey, Dave” he says. 

 

“Hey.”

 

“Can I show you something,” John says. He’s smiling and breathing heavily. He looks pleased with himself, like he’s about to let you in on a major secret. 

 

“I don’t want to see another single one of your shit posters.”

 

“It’s not a poster,” he says. He’s still smiling and for a second you think he sort of looks like English when he smiles like that. It kind of annoys you, a _lot_. 

 

“Get on with it then. I’m a busy man, Egbert.” 

 

John nods his head and licks his lips. You frown when the camera travels away from his face and further down. Like really further down. Like, seriously, all the way fucking down. It moves past his chest, his abs, and settles just at his... 

 

...Holy fuck. 

 

The video feed pauses, goes black, and then signs you out of Skype. 

 

“What the fuck?!”

 

“Sorry!” You hear English shout. “Tripped over the modem cord!” 

 

Your name is Dave Strider. You’re eighteen-years-old. 

 

And you motherfucking _hate_ Jake English. 


	2. Young Strider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're not really confused. You just don't know what the fuck you're doing.

You’ve never been in one before, so you don’t know what makes a stable, healthy, relationship. Although, you’re pretty certain that two people in a normal relationship wouldn’t slide all the furniture in your living room to one side and then proceed to strife like fucking legendary enemies. 

 

You feign disinterest when Bro takes a swipe at English with his katana, but you silently hope he slices open his chest. You pretend to be unimpressed when English blocks the blade with his gun. 

 

This is probably the most unhealthiest, dysfunctional, shit you’ve ever seen in your entire life. 

 

You’re dick is hard from watching it. 

 

“Stop swinging that blasted thing so close to my head!” English shouts. 

 

“Is that your way of admitting defeat?” Bro says. “Is your perfectly shaped ass tired of being kicked?”

 

“Pshaw!” You watch as Jake points his gun directly at Bro. “I simply could not fathom the idea of a jerkwad like you reigning victoriously. What I’m saying is that if you swing that darned thing at my head again, I might have to shoot _yours_ right off your shoulders.”

 

“You’d still want me,” Bro says and cuts through the air with his blade again. 

 

“I’m afraid you’ve been ill-informed, my fair-haired chum.” Again, English blocks the sword with his gun. 

 

Bro lowers the katana until the pointy tip gently rests against the floor. “Are you saying you wouldn’t make-out with my bloody, severed, head, bro?”

 

You’re done with this. 

 

“Dave,” Bro says just as you head toward your bedroom. He doesn’t wait for you to answer. “There’s a stain on Lil’ Cal’s shirt. You know anything about that?”

 

You know a lot about that, actually. The spilled soda on the counter is still a fresh memory in your head. Just as fresh as the fact that you used Lil’ Cal’s stupid shirt to clean it up. 

 

You lie. 

 

“No.”

 

You manage a single step forward before Bro is right behind you. The katana’s blade is at your neck, pressing gently against your skin. “Are you sure?” Bro says. “You look like you have a little secret that you’re dying to share.” You feel Bro’s breath against your neck. It fans over your ear and sends a tingle down your spine. “Or maybe a big one.”

 

You moan. 

 

You fucking _moan._  

 

You’re mortified. 

 

You shove Bro’s arm away--katana and all--and rush into your bedroom. With your door shut and your back pressed against it, you take a second to reflect upon how stupid you really are. 

 

You’re lucky you’re not bleeding. 

 

You make sure to lock your door even though you know that if Bro really wants in, he’ll find a way. You stay in your room and practice what you’ll say to Bro if he breaks down your door. He doesn’t. 

 

You’re disappointed. 

 

What else is new?

 

You exit your room when Bro and English are gone. As much as Bro likes to stay home and fuck around with his many robots and stupid ass puppets, he still has to work. He DJs at a club fifteen minutes away from your house. You’re not old enough to get in, but Bro has connections. You had planned on going there. You won’t be doing that now, which fucking blows. It’s Friday night and you’re going to miss battle of the DJs. You’ve been fucking murdering people with your lyrics lately and tonight would have been the perfect night to battle Bro at the turntables. 

 

You’ve royally fucked up. 

 

You’re in your living room now. The furniture has been pushed back into its proper place. You set your laptop on the coffee table in front of the couch and then sit down. You make a conscious effort to sit in the exact spot where Bro fucked English last night. You wonder if Bro got any cum on the sofa or if it all went up English’s greedy ass. 

 

You’re fucking demented. 

 

You sign onto your laptop and immediately notice that Egbert is online. You haven’t had anymore videochats with him since that fateful day where English destroyed your last session. You send Egbert a request to voicechat. He answers with a videochat. 

 

You’re hard again. 

“What’s up, Dave?” Egbert chuckles. He’s been drinking again. You can tell. There’s a half empty bottle of vodka off to the right of him. 

 

You wonder if he’ll hear it if you unzip your pants. 

 

“What about a voicechat led you to believe that I wanted to see your dumb face, Egbert?”

 

Egbert laughs again. “I had to show you this, Dave. You won’t believe it.”

 

“Go on.”

 

Egbert tilts a glass bowl in front of the camera and grins like an idiot. “Vodka infused Gushers. I came up with the idea myself.”

 

“I seriously doubt you’re the first to come up with that idea. In fact, I’m a hundred percent sure that some lame nerd has done the same thing while groping his Betty Crocker cookbook, stroking the pages with his--”

 

“Speaking of stroking,” John cuts you off. His voice sounds kind of, maybe a little bit, _seductive_. 

 

Your fingers linger over your zipper. 

 

“...Yeah?”

 

“I know I was drunk then, but I’m not now...”

 

You fucking doubt the hell out of that. “Continue.”

 

“If you wanted me to, I could...”

 

“That’s up to you.”

 

“I’m _asking_ you.” 

 

“It’s not up to me to make your decisions for you, John. Do what you want.”

 

“Have I ever told you how much of an ass you are when you’re trying to be cool?”

 

“I’m not trying.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“It’s just naturally who I am. Some people are amazing, excel at everything, and don’t need someone else to tell them what to do. Then there are others who like to take something already disgusting like Gushers and make them mildly less disgusting by--” 

 

Egbert rolls his eyes and adjusts the camera. You no longer see his face. He clearly wants you to observe somewhere further _south_. 

 

You unzip your pants. 

 

You don’t care if Egbert hears. 

 

“Dave?” Egbert whispers. 

 

“Yeah?” You whisper back. 

 

Egbert doesn’t say anything else and you’re pretty fucking fine with that. You’re cool with just watching. You try not to think about how you watched Bro doing the same thing just a day ago. 

 

You fail. 

 

You try not to compare the two of them and you certainly try not to contrast. 

 

You fail harder. 

 

He grips firmly. His strokes are haphazardly and wild, unlike Bro’s almost meticulous and calculated ones. You sink further into the couch. Your hand mirrors your best friend’s. Egbert jerks his hips, sliding his cock further into the already tight grip of his hand. He softly cries out. 

 

You moan, _loudly_. 

 

“Dave?”

 

You try to sound like you’re not on your fondling your dick when you speak. 

 

“Y-Yeah.”

 

You fail again. 

 

You’re turning into a big fucking failure. 

 

“What...” John gasps and whimpers and you literally have to shut your eyes and bite down on your tongue to keep from crying out and cumming. “What are you doing?”

 

“Nothing.” You lie. Your second real lie of the day. It doesn’t matter. 

 

You know John doesn’t believe you. 

 

Egbert’s hand speeds up and yours does the same. While you refuse to take your eyes away from the scene streamed before you, you can’t help but imagine his face right now. You wonder if he’s wearing his glasses, or if his eyes are closed. You picture him licking his lips, biting the bottom one, as the fingers on his free hand tug at one of the nipples you’ve been wanting to suck on for who knows how long. 

 

John drags his hand up to the tip of his cock, tilts his wrist, spreads his middle and index fingers into a sideways ‘V’ and drags them back down again. You lose it. 

 

“Fuck!”

 

You’re not in the current frame of mind to turn your body or to at least tilt your cock at an angle where your cum doesn’t shoot all over your computer. You dig your nails into the sofa, scratching at the upholstery, while your hips jerk roughly. You continue to fucking _ruin_ your laptop. Seriously. 

 

That shit is _wrecked_. 

 

John cums just as hard, but with ten times less the mess. 

 

You envy him. 

 

“Oh, crap. My roommate’s back,” John whispers. “I’ll call you later.” And just like that, Egbert and his dick are gone. 

 

You stare blankly at your computer, ignore the globs of stuff that shouldn’t be there, and try to figure out what the fuck just happened. 


	3. Young Strider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're starting to think that it was inevitable after all.

You don’t often take off your glasses, but when you do, it’s usually to watch your Bro have sex with English. Of course, they don’t know you’re standing in front of Bro’s door. They also don’t know that you’re quietly peering into his room. You gaze at the way English’s muscles tense each time he raises his hips only to lower them back down again. 

 

You can’t see much of Bro. You do see his legs and the soles of his feet. You hold back a groan when Bro curls his toes, no doubt at the sheer pleasure he must be feeling from having English ride him. 

 

They’re murmuring stuff to each other, Bro and English. You wish you could hear what they’re saying. You imagine English’s sad attempt at dirty talk and you almost feel embarrassed for him. 

 

You hear English whimper and watch as he slumps forward. He moans Bro’s name in a breathy sort of way that turns you on more than you would have ever thought possible. You’re thankful that you never bothered putting on anything other than your boxers when you got out of the shower. It’s easy as hell to slip your hand inside them, which you do. 

 

The moonlight pouring into Bro’s window shines on the two of them like a fucking spotlight. You step back just a bit when English climbs off of Bro. You’re not ready to leave, but you don’t want to risk getting caught. You lean against the wall outside of Bro’s door. You hold your breath and wait impatiently for the two of them to get back to fucking business. 

 

Literally. 

 

That wasn’t funny. That was dumb. 

 

You’re being stupid. 

 

After a few seconds, you poke your head back into Bro’s room just in time to narrowly avoid getting hit in the face by one of his fucking puppets. 

 

You’re startled. 

 

You curse. 

 

You hope it wasn’t out loud. 

 

It was. 

 

Bro and English are staring right at you. 

 

You’re fucking hand is _still wrapped around your dick._

__

Holy fucking shit.

 

Bro sits up. “Dave?”

 

You. Fucking. Run. 

 

The carpet cushions the sound of your feet slamming against the floor. You hear Bro’s door slam fully open against the wall and you know he’s right behind you. You’re mere feet away from your bedroom door. You can almost feel the metal of the doorknob against your fingers. 

 

You reach for the knob. You’re almost there. 

 

But Bro’s too quick.

 

You don’t make it. 

 

You feel the firmness of his fingers when your forehead crashes against them. They protect you from otherwise smashing your directly into the door. Bro’s skin is warm and slick from sweat when his chest presses against your back. He steps forward, further shoving you against the door. You don’t have to guess whether or not he’d been quick enough to throw on some pants before he chased after you. Your boxers are thin and Bro’s dick is hard. 

 

_Extremely_ hard. 

 

You scramble for the doorknob again, but Bro grabs your hand and pulls it away. 

 

You begin to struggle. 

 

You’re not ready to explain yourself and you’d like to get into your room before Bro can realize that he’s still naked and hard and that he’s practically fucking you in the hallway with his idiot, dork, boyfriend several feet away. 

 

“C-Cut that shit out,” you finally say. You’ve been silent enough. Bro needs to know you mean business. 

 

You ignore the longing ache you feel when Bro backs away from you. 

 

It’s short lived. 

 

He slams you against the wall next to your door instead. You’re facing him now. You can’t look into his eyes, so you look down. 

 

You probably shouldn’t have done that. 

 

Yeah, definitely still naked and hard. 

 

“That was the slowest I’ve ever seen anyone run,” Bro says. 

 

You do your best to sound calm. This shit isn’t a big deal. You can handle it. You can smooth talk your way out of anything. 

 

You’re Dave motherfucking Strider. 

 

“I wasn’t running,” you say. “Striders--”

 

“--don’t run.” Bro finishes your statement for you. 

 

“That’s right. So if you don’t mind stepping off...” You attempt to push Bro away, but he uses both his hands to grip your wrists and slams them above your head. He transfers both of your wrists into just one hand, easily pinning your arms against the wall and allowing himself free use of his other hand. He flicks your nipple with his finger and you cry out and struggle helplessly against him. 

 

He chuckles sadistically at your expense. 

 

You’re fucked. 

 

He uses that same finger and slowly glides it down your chest, past your abs, and allows it to rest just at the waistband of your boxers. Bro looks down and so do you. You know exactly what this is. He’s trying to break you. He wants you to cave first. It’s a messed up game of chicken involving Bro’s hand, your dick, and a battle of wills. 

 

When you look back up again, Bro’s staring directly at you. You don’t speak. You won’t let him win. Not this time. 

 

Bro’s finger slips slightly beneath the waistband. 

 

You cave. 

 

“Dirk, wait!”

 

Bro quietly stares at you. You can’t read his expression at all, but you have a sinking feeling that he’ll go back into his bedroom and have a good laugh with English about this. He releases your wrists and takes a step back. 

 

You’re furious with yourself for chickening out. You’ll forever wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t. 

 

You’re a fucking a coward. 

 

You turn away from Bro and finally open your door. You manage a couple of steps inside your bedroom before you’re pushed forward and practically thrown onto bed. Before you can even attempt to sit up, Bro is climbing on top of you. He knocks your legs a part with his knee and presses down firmly the moment you try to speak. You gasp and grip the sheets. Whatever you’d planned on saying vanishes instantly. 

 

“Did I wait long enough?” Bro asks. 

 

“Yeah,” you breathe out. You don’t care anymore. You’ve wanted this for way too long. 

 

You’re not about to be stupid _twice_. 

 

There’s a moment where the two of you just stare at each other. Neither of your speak and you wonder what’s going through Bro’s head. 

 

“Shit. Fuck it,” Bro says. He leans down and kisses you. It’s not gentle at all. In fact, it’s probably the roughest kiss you’ve ever had. Not that you’ve had many of them. You don’t even realize that Bro’s hand is sliding inside your boxers until you feel it wrap around your dick. 

 

You lose your fucking mind. 

 

You break the kiss, cry out against Bro’s lips, and turn your head away. You breathe heavily when Bro’s teeth latch onto your neck. They--along with his tongue--torture the sensitive spot where neck and shoulder meet. His hand strokes your cock and you really don’t fucking know what to do with yourself. 

 

Fuck. You hope this isn’t a dream.

 

You’ll kill yourself if you’re dreaming.

 

You will literally shoot yourself in the fucking head. 

 

Bro steadily lowers himself down your body. He kisses a path down your chest that has you hissing and digging your heels into the mattress. He briefly hesitates when he starts to pull down your boxers. You’re pretty sure he does this more for you than for himself. 

 

You don’t stop him. 

 

You watch as he lowers his head. Your shudder when he parts his lips and blows on tip of your cock. He stares up at you thoughtfully and then narrows his eyes before pulling back. “Change of plans,” Bro says. 

 

Bro gets onto his knees and crawls behind you. When he leans over you again, he’s at perfect angle where you can reach out and stroke his cock, which, _obviously_ , you do. At least until you feel Bro’s mouth around your dick. You’re not sure what you do after that. In fact, you’re almost certain that for a few quick seconds you positively lose consciousness. 

 

“Fuck! D-Dirk...” You have no fucking clue what you’re trying to say or if you really have anything to say at all. Your legs tremble and attempt to draw in, but Dirk forces them back open and takes more of your dick into his mouth. 

 

You clamp one hand over your mouth. When that’s not enough to drown out your moans, the other one joins it. You really can’t take anymore of this and you’re about to die trying. 

 

Bro takes pity on you and stops. “That’s pretty pathetic,” he taunts you. 

 

“F-Fuck you.”

 

“When did you get that charming speech impediment?” 

 

You attempt to glare at him, but it’s half-assed. The crazy ass, upside down, Spiderman kiss that he gives you, however, is not. 

 

This kiss is nothing like the previous one. As cliche and cheesy as it sounds, you’re fucking lost in it. You know you are because you feel your fingers tangled in Bro’s hair and you certainly don’t remember putting them there. You’re so focused on having Bro’s tongue in your mouth that you don’t even feel when the bed dips slightly in front of you. But you _do_ feel the wet heat that swallows your cock. 

 

You definitely fucking feel _that_. 

 

You moan against Bro’s lips and deepen the kiss until you realize that Bro can’t possibly be sucking you off when he’s kissing you. 

 

Your eyes widen when it dawns on you that the only other possible mouth it could be is--

 

“Aaah! Fuck!” 

 

English has your entire cock into his mouth. Seriously, there isn’t an inch of it that isn’t shoved completely down his throat. Your fingers grip Bro’s hair, pulling and clawing at it while English reduces you to nothing more than a moaning, whimpering, puddle of liquid fuck. 

 

Bro pries your hands from his hair and holds your wrist down against the bed. You’re literally seconds from cumming when English pulls away. He wraps his hand around the base of your cock and prevents your impeding orgasm, _barely_. 

 

You stare down at English and he stares up at you. He turns his head and nips gently at your inner thigh. You gasp, blink, and wonder if you’re actually dead. Maybe Bro killed you when he caught you spying on him and English. 

 

Maybe there’s a katana sticking out of your fucking chest right now. 

 

“Tell me, young Strider,” English says. “Are you in the mood for an adventure?”

 

You don’t trust your voice, so you don’t speak. But you slowly nod your head because yes... 

 

You fucking are. 


	4. Young Strider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're sailing.

You don’t hate Jake English.

 

In fact, you’re pretty fucking certain that the more he kisses you, the more you forget why you thought you hated him in the first place. 

 

You’re amazed by how soft his lips are. 

 

Unlike Bro who likes forcing you to submit when he kisses you, Jake is the complete opposite.

 

You’re no longer intimidated when he encourages you to dominate the kiss.

 

You bite down on English’s  bottom lip when Bro slides his slick finger inside of you. You expect English to pull away. Instead, he murmurs against your mouth and glides his tongue along your top lip. English grabs your hand, drags it down his chest, and then curls your fingers around his cock. 

 

You respect a man who knows what he wants. 

 

With English kissing you, your hand wrapped around his dick, and Bro fingering your ass, you wonder if you’ll pass out from having so many sensations hitting you all at once.

 

You cry out softly in surprise when Bro grabs your ankle and lifts your leg into the air. You resist the urge to wiggle your hips when Bro uses one of his hands to spread your ass and pours lube all over it. You think he’s taking the term _‘generous’_ a little too literally.

 

You’re wrong.

 

You didn’t know you were capable of producing such a high pitched sound. 

 

English pulls away from the kiss quick enough to clamp a hand over your mouth so that only people within a ten mile radius hear you rather than a twenty. Your hand is gripped so tightly around English’s wrist that your knuckles are white.

 

“Calm down,” Bro says.

 

You reply with a muffled, “Fuck you” behind English’s hand.

 

“Almost in,” Bro reassures you as if _that’_ s supposed to make you feel better.

 

You try to pretend that the liquid slowly spilling from your eyes is sweat and _not_ tears. You clearly have a medical condition and you’re very sensitive about that shit. 

 

Bro pulls back a little and you exhale a breath of short relief. It’s short because a second later he thrusts forward, completely slamming into you so forcefully that you scream and cling to English like he’s a god damned life preserver and you’re fucking drowning in the Pacific Ocean. 

 

The initial sting of having Bro’s impossibly hard cock shoved inside of you is almost enough to make you tell him to cease and fucking desist. Luckily, it doesn’t last very long. You still feel a bit like you’ve been split in half, but Bro reaches down and gingerly strokes your cock, which definitely speeds up the process. Considerate bastard.

 

English removes his hand from your mouth, kisses you one last time, and then crawls toward the foot of the bed. You watch as he kisses Bro, deep, long, and _lovingly_.

 

You’re finally able to see with unbiased eyes how perfect they look together.

 

And then English slides his mouth down your cock and you ignore all that sensual bullshit. You don’t believe in God, but that doesn’t stop you from calling out his his name.

 

Somehow, Bro and English have managed a magnificent rhythm of sucking and fucking  and it’s knocking you from the point of pleasure to purely fucking enthralled . Compliments and applause are in order, but you’re too busy whimpering to even make an attempt at that. 

 

Whatever. Your moans are applause enough.

 

You feel English’s hand grip yours, raise it, and settle it on top of his head. His hair is soft against your fingers and you want to look down at him, but your eyes are squeezed shut. You know you’ll explode if you even glimpse. Hell, just thinking about it has your cock twitching inside of English’s mouth.

 

English presses down on your hand, which forces his head down further. You cry out like you’re being tortured. 

 

You might as well be.

 

English does it three more times until you get a fucking clue and start to force his head down on your own. Your fingers are gripped tightly in his hair. You’re not the overly aggressive type and you don’t know shit about roleplay (other than the RPGS you’ve played with John and you’re so not thinking about that right now), but you do know that you fucking love how English’s mouth feels around your cock, so if he wants you to force him to suck it, you’re all for that.

 

“Fuck, yes,” you growl and shove English’s head down further.

 

“Mmm.” English murmurs around your cock and the vibrations combined with a particularly sharp thrust are just what you need.

 

“Ahhh.” You gasp and arch your back. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You do some type of chant that you can’t seem to stop when you feel your orgasm rapidly building. Unfortunately, it’s interrupted by a pinch to your inner that makes you buck your hips, forcing Bro’s dick even deeper into you and yours further into English’s mouth .

 

“Cut that shit out,” Bro says. “We’re just getting started.” He pulls out of you slowly and smacks your ass. “Flip over.”

 

“C-Can’t,” you stammer. English’s mouth is still suctioned around your cock. You watch, mesmerized by the way his head bobs up and down.

 

Bro rolls his eyes and grabs a fistful of English’s hair and jerks him up, successfully knocking your hand away in the process.

 

English smirks at him before licking his lips. “You ruined my adventure.”

 

“I have another one for you,” Bro says. He pushes English onto his back and then uses what can only be described as the universal hand motion for ‘scoot.’ English doesn’t question anything. He just sits up and slides back until his back is resting against the headboard. 

 

You turn over and grunt softly when Bro grabs your hips and impatiently pulls you onto your knees. You gasp and grip either of English’s thighs. 

 

Bro sure as hell didn’t waste any time sliding his dick back inside you. 

 

You close your eyes because it’s awkward and sexy as fuck getting fucked by Bro with English sitting right in front of you jerking his dick. 

 

“I have to say, young Strider,” English purrs. “The sounds you’re making are quite arousing.”

 

“S-Shut up,” you groan. You know he’s taunting you. He’s been around your Bro for too long not to be. 

 

You hear Bro chuckle behind you and you’re a second from telling him to shut up, too, but he chooses that time to shift his hips and slam back into you. He hits a spot that might as well be a magic portal between your cock and your fucking _soul_. 

 

You wonder if anyone else heard the echo when you screamed. 

 

Bro hits it again. 

 

And again. 

 

You suspect he would have hit it a third time, but you lurch forward so far that you’re practically burying your face against English’s chest. 

 

You feel Bro’s hands at your waist, tugging you backward. “You running from me, bro?” Bro says and has the fucking audacity to snicker as he slips his cock back inside you. 

 

You force yourself to open your eyes and you catch English looking positively delighted, like he’s watching one of his favorite movies, which is every fucking movie ever made. He catches your eye and winks at you and you realize he’s just as sadistic as Bro. 

 

No, he’s worse than Bro because he had actually managed to fool you. 

 

Well, fuck this. 

 

You don’t even hesitate when you lower your head and suck English’s cock into your mouth. You do, however, take a sick pleasure in hearing the loud thump of his head slamming back against the wall. You smirk inwardly when English holds his head with his hand and groans. 

 

“Ow.”

 

Bro sighs behind you. He’s been telling English to be more aware of his surroundings for years. 

 

Extremely pleased with yourself, you focus on sucking English’s cock the way he did yours and discover that it is impossible. 

 

You’re embarrassed by your gagging. 

 

But English and Bro seem to enjoy it, so you deal with it. 

 

You bob your head, alternating between fast and slow. You’re certain you’re fucking earning your gold star from the way English moans. Bro’s still vigorously pounding into you, but you use the momentum he’s built up and match it with how hard and fast you suck English’s cock. 

 

You’re not a puppet and you refuse to be manipulated by the puppet master and his gun toting boy scout companion. 

 

“Shit... Dave...”

 

You’re pretty certain it’s one of the few times you’ve only ever heard English curse and you’re pretty fucking thrilled that you’re the cause of it. 

 

English taps your shoulder and calls your name again, but your only answer is to take more of his cock into your mouth. 

 

You gag again, but who the fuck cares at this point?

 

“D-Dave...” When you still don’t stop English resorts to tugging your hair with one hand and gently shoving at your shoulder with the other. You feel it as he attempts to move backward, hoping to escape your mouth, but you have other plans. 

 

You like to call it motherfucking payback. 

 

“Dave,” English pleads. He’s frantic now and just knowing that excites you enough to slam back against Bro, meeting the thrusts that you had previously tried to run from. English is so close you can almost taste it, which amuses you because you will. 

 

You want to. 

 

“Oh, god,” English whimpers and you know he’s reached his limit. “Dave.... Dave... Dirk!”

 

You actually cry out in protest when Bro grabs you by your hair and jerks you away from English’s cock. English pants heavily, let’s his head fall back against the wall, but _doesn’t_ cum. 

 

You’re kind of annoyed about that. 

 

Bro stills his hips for the time being and you use this as the perfect opportunity to get back at him as well. “What’s wrong?” you say. You wish you could look at him, but he has your hair pulled so tightly that you can only stare up at the ceiling. “Thought you were the only one who could make him do that?” 

 

“I’m impressed,” Bro says and it’s fucking music to your ears. “I underestimated you. You can clearly handle anything I throw at you.” 

 

You’re so full of pride right now you don’t know what to do with yourself. You’ve been wanting Bro to understand that all along. Of course, you’re not lame enough to say any of that. 

 

“Just as long as you know.”

 

“Oh, I do,” Bro agrees. “As a matter of fact...” He releases your hair and looks down at English. “You good for one more adventure?”

 

English opens his eyes, smiles, and nods and it’s so fucking endearing that you aren’t sure whether or not you should punch him or blush. 

 

You settle for doing nothing at all. That is until Bro pulls out of you. 

 

You know things can’t be over already. 

 

You watch curiously as Bro searches the bed until he finds what he’s looking for. You’re about to brace yourself back on your hands when he grabs your arm and shakes his head.

 

“That’s too tame for someone like you,” Bro says. 

 

He hands English the bottle and English makes quick work of making a huge mess of pouring the slippery stuff all over his cock and on your bed. You suppose it doesn’t matter. 

 

You were going to have to wash the sheets, anyway. 

 

English grabs your wrist with his wet hand and pulls you forward. You assume he’s taking turns with Bro. 

 

You’ve never been so fucking wrong before in your life. 

 

English slides his cock inside you and you moan. You weren’t sure about the position, but you like it. It still feels weird to be lying on top of him with your back pressed against his chest. You wait for Bro to straddle over top of you. 

 

You’re especially excited because you know there will be no one able to come to his rescue when he realizes that his dick is no match for your mouth. 

 

Unfortunately, you won’t be finding out tonight. 

 

Bro has other plans. 

 

You’re not sure what the fuck he thinks he’s doing when he spreads your legs and settles between them. When English grips your hips to hold you still, you start to realize _exactly_ what Bro thinks he’s doing. 

 

“You’re not... You can’t... Dirk...” Is all you manage to say between heavy gasps of breath. 

 

“You can handle it, right Dave?” Bro whispers and you shudder at the sound. 

 

When you don’t answer, Bro asks English instead. 

 

“What do you think, Jake?” 

 

Jake’s fingers are digging into your hips, lifting and lowering you while thrusting his own into the air. “I’m... ahh... wagering a guess that... ahh... he can.” 

 

“Good enough of an answer for me,” Bro says. 

 

You feel him push forward. 

 

And you terrified because while a part of you shudders to think about the pain you might be in for, an even bigger part of you is excited to experience it. You want it to hurt, to sting like when Bro first shoved his cock inside of you. 

 

You get your wish. 

 

“Ahh! Fuck, Dirk! I c-can’t!”

 

But Bro leans in and presses his mouth against your ear, which only drives his cock even deeper into you. “Shh,” he whispers and you sob because you can’t handle getting what you’ve always wanted after waiting for so long.

 

Bro rocks his hips and both you and English moan. You try to use your fingers to grip the sheets. You need something, _anything_ , to hold onto, but English laces his own fingers with yours and grip those instead. 

 

You don’t care how loud you are, or that you’re calling out both their names, or that you are most definitely crying. You don’t even care that one of more of you may even regret this in the morning. Right now, at this moment, all you care about is that you’re here with them, _both_ of them and that fact is both enough and way too much. 

 

You can’t even manage to alert them when you cum. 

 

But you know they feel you squeezing around them because they both moan and cum one right after the other just a few moments later. You don’t want to think about how much of a mess they’ve made of your ass, but you do anyway. 

 

You’re actually quite pleased with your thoughts. 

 

Bro slides out of you and falls next to you on the bed. You don’t have the energy to gracefully get up, so you opt for rolling off of English and onto the mattress. You lie on your back in between Bro and English. 

 

It takes several minutes for the three of you to calm your breathing long enough to speak. When you finally do, it’s English who breaks the silence. 

 

“I fucking _love_ adventures,” English says. 

 

You want to call English an idiot and tell him that he sounds ridiculous when he swears, but somehow you still find him cute and charming, so you smile and then immediately flip over and press your face against the pillow so no one else notices that you can’t really stop. 

 

“I saw that,” Bro says. 

 

You too fucking fucking amused, too fucking sated, and too fucking _tired_ to even care. 

 

Your name is Dave Strider, and to be fucking honest, you’re _speechless_. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Young Strider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know where you stand.

A month and a half has gone by since _that_ particular event on _that_ particular day. You don’t think about it as much as you used to, probably because the three of you have done it a _lot_ more than you would have ever expected. 

 

_You’re still a bit confused about where you stand with them, but you’ll work out the details eventually._

 

You’re currently seated on top of the air conditioning unit outside in your backyard. You’re not sure where Bro is or when he’s coming back, but English is doing a decent job of keeping you company. You watch, quietly fascinated as he aims his Beretta at a line of bottles and cans and tags each one. 

 

“Young Strider,” he says and you have to work hard to resist the urge to close your eyes. He’s not being seductive or anything, but the sound of his voice does things to you now that it didn’t do previously. 

 

_You quickly shove down memories of last night before your body has a chance to react to them._

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I’m wondering if you’ve ever handled one of these before,” English says. 

 

“One of what?” You ask. “A gun or that particular gun? Either way, the answer is no.” You’re much more of a sword and hand to hand combat man, thanks to Bro.

 

“Do you fancy the idea?” English walks over to you, the muzzle end of the gun pointed at the ground below his feet. “Would you like to handle my gun, Dave?”

 

There’s innuendo dripping, fuck that, _gushing_ from those words and you really wish Bro was here because you’ve never been alone this long with English and you’re not sure if it’s okay to show him exactly how much you’d like to handle his gun without Bro around. 

 

“Nah, I’m good.”

 

“Are you sure?” Jake says. “Of course, it’s takes a bit of practice to feel like you actually have control over the blasted thing and then there’s caring for it and all that malarky, but I could teach you to shoot.”

 

More innuendo. Is he just trying to fuck with you or does he even realize what he’s saying? He doesn’t need to teach you to shoot. You’re about to do that on your own if he keeps staring at you like that. 

 

“What the hell,” you say and hop off of the air conditioning unit. You hold out your hand for the gun, but English doesn’t give it to you. 

 

“Move up a bit.”

 

You do as instructed and English moves behind you. You turn to the side and he offers you the gun with the more dangerous end facing him, his hand wrapped around the front end of the barrel and covering the muzzle. It sort of reminds you of how you were instructed by your elementary school teachers to not run with scissors, only to come home and watch your Bro wield swords. 

 

_You’ve had a very confusing childhood._

 

“All right, now listen carefully, Young Strider,” he says and you wonder what makes him alternate between calling you by your first name and addressing you as if you’re royalty. “You want to aim very carefully. It would be a fricking nightmare if you shot over that fence and hit one of Lalonde’s cats.” 

 

You want to ask, ‘which Lalonde’ because they both have the potential to be terrifying when they want to be. You’ve seen the older of the two break an empty liquor bottle against the side of the house and threaten neighborhood kids for knocking over her trashcan. Of course she was drunk at the time, but when is she not? 

 

You feel English’s arms around you, gripping your own arms and lowering them slightly. He smells like hazelnut or sandalwood or something earthy and you wonder if he’s wearing cologne or if he just rolls around in the forest until he smells that way. The previous makes more sense, but you wouldn’t put the later past him. 

 

You hold back a gasp when his fingers interlace with yours and he leans forward. Something hard presses against your ass and you’re holding his gun so the first part of that stupid, but fitting saying is pretty much fucking void. 

 

“Ready to give it a go?” English asks you and you nod your head as his fingers creep up and click off the safety. 

 

You plant your feet firmly on the ground. 

 

“Give a her squeeze.” 

 

You do and the resulting sound doesn’t surprise you. You’ve watched English fire several guns, after all. What does stun you, however, is the power behind the Beretta, enough to make you slam back into English, who grips your hip with on hand and keeps the other hand firmly on your arm. 

 

“Again,” English says and you’re more than eager to comply. 

 

You shoot English’s gun three more times before you realize that his hand has traveled from your hip to your abs... and it is rapidly descending. 

 

“And the purpose of this is?” You ask, but your voice shakes and gives away how turned on you really are. 

 

“Any gun toting adventurer will tell you that you have to ignore distractions.” 

 

“I’m not an adventurer.” His hand slips lower still and makes quick work of unfastening your pants. You’re still holding the gun, fingers squeezing the grip until they’re hot and sweaty from friction. 

 

“Sure, you are,” English says and slides his hands into your pants. 

 

You accidentally pull the trigger and miraculously shoot one of the cans several feet away. English chuckles and whispers something into your ear, but you’re mind is too busy racing to understand it. The longer you hold up the gun, the heavier it seems to become. English’s lips are on your neck, kissing, teeth nipping just behind your ear. 

 

Your hands progressively lower and you wonder if you’ll end up accidentally shooting yourself in the foot at this rate, so you’re relieved when he finally reaches up, clicks the safety back on, and that takes the gun away from you. He lets go of your cock and you almost protest, but you assume it’s to put the gun back in its holster because seconds later he’s turning you around and kissing you. 

 

You feel his hands on you back, pressing you forward, making your cock rub against his khaki shorts. He lowers his hands, squeezes your ass, and you moan into the kiss. 

 

You lower your own hands, undo his pants, and eagerly free his cock. He bites down gently on your bottom lip and you gasp and thrust your hips against him. You can’t believe how hard he is. 

 

_You wonder if he planned this all along._

 

English pulls you even closer and takes over, grasping both of your cocks, pumping them hard and fast, almost in tune with the steady pounding of your heartbeat. You’re outside in the middle of your backyard getting jerked off by your older brother’s boyfriend, and it’s that knowledge, that excitement, that _thrill_ of getting caught, of showing your neighbors who you really are and what you really do, that pushes you over the edge. 

 

You pant, mouth wide, eyes open as you cum all over English’s cock. English keeps stroking you, your sensitive cock still gliding back and forth against his. When it gets to be too much, you end up gripping his shirt, bunching the material between your fingers and hissing softly until English finally spills, warm and thick, shuddering against you. 

 

“See. You’re a natural, Dave,” English purrs and winks at you. 

 

It’s messy and uncomfortable to tuck your cock back into your pants, but you both do and then make your awkward journey back into the house. English goes into Bro’s room to use his bathroom while you use the main bathroom to clean up. When you step out again, both English and Bro are sitting in the living room talking. You try to sneak into your bedroom, but Bro sees you. 

 

“How was the shooting lesson?” He asks. 

 

You shrug your shoulders. “Okay, I guess.” When it looks like Bro is about to ask another question, you pretend like you hear your cell phone ringing in your bedroom and head toward it. 

 

_It takes all of your willpower not to run._

 

Instead, you walk casually, shoulders relaxed, thumbs hooked on the belt loops of jeans--real douche-like.

 

You stay in there for the remainder of the night, only coming out to use the bathroom and generally trying to pretend you don’t exist while guilt consumes you. 

 

_You’re going to have to tell him._

 

As you crawl into bed, you promise yourself that you’ll figure out the how and when tomorrow. With your head resting against the pillow, you try to come up with several possible reaction scenarios on your Bro’s part, but you end up falling asleep after the first one. 

 

_It’s not good._

 

You wake up a two hours later to complete darkness, which is pretty fucking alarming because there’s a streetlight across the street from your house and, though dim, it _always_ lights a least a small portion of your bedroom. 

 

It takes you a couple more seconds for you to realize that something is covering your eyes, but when you finally do, you attempt to reach up to remove whatever it is. 

 

_But you can’t._

 

Each of your wrists is tied with some type of soft material and then tied to something that prevents you from raising arms too high or moving them too low. You cry out in surprise when your legs are spread apart and a hand smacks your inner thigh. 

 

“So that lesson was just okay, hm?” Bro asks you and and smacks your other one. 

 

You apologize. “S-Sorry.”

 

“You should be. I wanted to watch, but I guess this will be just as good.”

 

“What will?” Bro doesn’t answer you. He doesn’t need to. The startling buzzing sound that erupts in the quietness of the room is all the answer you need. When the noise vanishes a second later, you tilt your head toward the direction of where you last heard his voice. “What are you--” 

 

You cry out when something hard, slick, and _not_ your Bro’s cock is shoved inside of you. You try to shut your legs, but Bro forces them apart and pushes it in further. You’re confused when you feel him crawl off of your bed and hear his retreating footsteps. 

 

“Ahh, fuck!”

 

That same buzzing is back, only it’s inside of you, vibrating hard and making you blindly jerk your hips upward. You hear English’s muffled voice from the next room over, shouting and calling for Bro and it dawns on you that he’s probably going through the same pleasurable torture as you. 

 

You thrash your head back and forth until your blindfold slips enough for you to see Bro standing partly between your doorway and his own. You can just make out a small controller in his hand, aiming it at you, and you’re pretty fucking sure in his other hand there’s another controller and it’s pointing directly at English. 

 

_You deserve this._  

 

When you wake up the next morning, you’re surprised you can actually walk. Bro tortured both you and English for most of the night and now all you want to do is eat breakfast and go back to sleep. 

 

You step into the living room just in time to see Bro and English heading toward the front door. There’s something in Bro’s hand that looks suspiciously like luggage and he catches you frowning at it. 

 

“I’m hanging out with Jake for a few days,” he says. And it’s something in the way that he says it, something that makes it easier for you to understand your place with them, or rather, your lack thereof. 

 

You think you do a good job of hiding your expression, but Jake must see through it because he extends and invitation for you to go with them. 

 

“You’re free to come to if you’d like, Dave.” He smiles at you, but you can tell by the way that Bro looks down at his bag that _he_ doesn’t want you to be there. 

 

_You’re a third wheel._

 

At least now you know where you stand. 

 

“Nah, I’m going to hang here. Got some projects to work on.”

 

It stings, but you’re not as offended as you thought you’d be. Bro and English are a thing. You suppose you have to respect that. 

 

Bro mutters something about money and food and you give him a half-ass answer before going into the kitchen to find something to eat. You hear the door close seconds later. 

 

Okay, you lied. 

 

_You’re pretty fucking offended._

 

 

                                                                                                                                 ***

 

You haven’t seen or heard from Bro or English in three days and that’s pretty fucked up, but whatever. You haven’t heard from John in almost two weeks and you think that’s probably worse. The last time you talked, he said he was sending you a package. 

 

_It still has yet to arrive._

 

You’ve tried to keep yourself focused on drawing, but the more you think about Bro, English, and John, the lousier you become. You’re actually thankful when your cell phone rings and you pretty much don’t fucking care who it is. 

 

_You just want someone to talk to._

 

You answer the call and put the phone up to your ear. “Strider.”

 

“Dave!” It’s John. 

 

“Still alive, huh, Egbert?” You say as if you hadn’t been worried about him for almost half a month. 

 

“Did you get my package?” 

 

“Negative.”

 

“Did you even check?” John questions you. “I bet it’s there by now.”

 

“Dude, it’s nine o’clock at night. The only packages being delivered tonight are inside someone’s pants.”

 

“That was probably the lamest joke you ever told, Dave.”

 

“Yeah,” you agree. “Not one of my better ones.”

 

“Just check,” John nags you. “Maybe someone got it by mistake and left it at the door for you.”

 

“Egbert, are you even listening? There is nothing here.”

 

“Just check!”

 

You sigh. You figure you might as well walk to the front door, open it, and shut it loudly just so he’ll shut up about it. “Fine.” You get up from the couch and walk toward the door. “What number are you calling me from anyway?” That ridiculous custom ringtone didn’t ring, so you know he has to be calling from a different number. 

 

“New phone,” John answers. 

 

“What’d you do, break the other one?” You open the door and jump slightly at the figure standing on your front porch. 

 

“UPS!” John says into the phone, which echoes annoyingly into your ear. You hang up on him and shut the door in his face before walking back over to the couch. 

 

“Hey!” John says as he opens the door and shuts it behind him, grinning like a complete idiot. “Good prank, huh, Strider?”

 

“That was a prank?” It’s hard to look at him. He’s gotten taller and more tan since the last time you’ve seen him. His hair is a tad longer and you don’t remember his eyes being so... _blue_. 

 

He plops down on the couch beside you and picks up the television remote. “Let’s watch a movie,” he says and flips through the channels.

 

Eventually, your heart rate goes back to it’s normal pace and you realize that you’re getting yourself worked up over nothing. John is still your best bro. He probably doesn’t even remember what the two of you did during _that_ Skype call, or any of the calls the two of you shared while he was drunk. 

 

_You’re not sure whether or not you should be disappointed or relieved._

 

The two of you easily fall back to the comfortableness of talking shit to each other while you watch terrible movies and make fun of bad acting. The minutes transform to hours with the two of you just hanging out being bros and it makes your realize how much you missed it. 

 

That is, until John leans toward you, destroying any semblance of personal space, his lips mere fractions from your ear and says,  “So... about that kiss.”

 

And you must have just leveled up because fuck if your life didn’t just get ten times more _complicated_. 


	6. Young Strider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wonder what the fuck you're going to do now.

You wonder if John has gotten his fair share of kissing experience overseas. 

 

It started out simple enough--a soft, gentle, peck--something that seemed harmless and sweet. Pretty much how you would describe John on most occasions. You went to pull  back, but he followed you, his lips still pressed against yours. You parted your lips wide enough to allow him the option of taking the kiss a bit further. 

 

_And he accepted the challenge._

 

You’re somehow on his lap now, which is funny because you don’t remember straddling him. But you suppose it’s one of those things that happen too quickly for you to register what’s actually going on. 

 

He trails kisses down your jawline and settles his mouth against your neck, sucking and biting as your fingers glide through his hair, pulling and gripping at thick, messy locks of chestnut, while you grind down on top of him. Your neck stings from where he bit down too hard amidst all his other lavishing. You think maybe you liked that little bit of pain. 

 

_You know they’ll be a hickey there later._

 

He slides his hand underneath your shirt, the tips of his fingers drawing lazy circles against your abdomen. You gasp when a few of his fingers dip below the waistband of your pants and a few more tug at the front of them until the button comes undone.

 

“Hey, Dave, look what we brought you ba-- Whoops!”

 

You didn’t hear the front door open, but English’s cheerful voice is unmistakable. You’re sure that if they ever made a trophy for bad timing, the little figure at the top would be a miniature replica of Jake fucking English. 

 

“Sorry, Dave, I didn’t know you had... John!”  


John chuckles and leans to the side so that he can properly see English’s face. “Hey, Jake,” he says, grinning happily at him. 

 

“When did you get back? Why didn’t you tell me?” English puts down his bag and moves closer to the the two of you. 

 

“I got back today. I was coming over here anyway and I figured you’d probably show up some time, so I guess it all worked out.”

 

You try to ease off of John’s lap without causing too much of a scene, but he grips your hips and holds you in place. English flops down next to the two of you as if he isn’t at all surprised to see you straddling John’s lap. 

 

“You have to tell me about all your adventures,” English says, he gently nudges John’s shoulder for a moment before dropping his hand, where it rests against your thigh. He continues blabbering on about adventures and traveling and other things that you only half listen to. 

 

You know exactly what that hand is capable of and you don’t particularly like the idea of John finding out how well you know, so you once again try to climb off his lap. 

 

_His response is to grip your hips even tighter and grind you down against him._

 

Apparently, Jake didn’t see it because he’s still talking, but there’s no way he could have missed it. Besides, you’re pretty sure you fucking gasped, so he should have at least _heard_ it. 

 

“Welcome back, John.”

 

Your eyes widen when you hear Bro’s voice. You still remember the look on his face when he left and you’re too much of a coward to see if it’s still there. 

 

“Thanks, Dirk,” John says happily. He also finally releases your hips so that you can climb off of him, which you do. “I’m really happy to be back.”

 

“It seems that way.”

 

John blushes and shrugs his shoulders and you sneak off into the kitchen where you can get yourself something to drink and then perhaps hideout in your bedroom in hopes that everyone forgets you’re there. 

 

You hear their voices as you enter the kitchen. English is trying to lure John into a wrestling match and John is trying--and failing--to talk his way out of it. A few seconds later, you hear a series of thumps and know that John was unsuccessful in his avoidance of roughhousing with his older cousin. 

 

Standing in front of the refrigerator, you open the door only to have it slam shut again. You can still hear English and John playing around in the living room, so that only leaves one person. 

 

You might as well get this over with. 

 

“How was your trip?” You ask as you turn around to face Bro. “Did you--” Before you can finish your question, he shoves you against the refrigerator door and kisses you. Normally, you’d be fine with this, but the fact that John could easily catch you, makes things pretty fucking terrifying. 

 

You shove at Bro’s shoulders and he breaks the kiss only to latch his mouth onto your neck instead. “C-Chill,” you whisper before hissing when he bites down. 

 

“Missed you,” Bro breathes out against your neck. You’d tease him for that, but his hand finds its way into your pants and you panic instead. 

 

“Bro, chill,” you say again. “John’s here.”

 

“So.” He tugs at your earlobe with his teeth and your knees buckle. 

 

“Fuck... I’m serious,” you whimper. “Stop.”

 

“In my room. Later tonight?” He asks you, grinding against you, his fingers gently scratching against your inner thigh. 

 

You nod your head because you’re pretty certain you’ll moan if you open your mouth to reply. 

 

“Promise?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Good,” Bro says and he gives your cock a squeeze before releasing you. He walks out of the kitchen, leaving you to stare at the wall in confusion. 

 

_You wonder the fuck just happened._

 

You decide it’ll be best if you have a glass of water before going back into the living room. You really prefer apple juice, but that’s a beverage that should be enjoyed when you’re not fucking confused about your life.

 

After drinking the water, you go back into the living room to see Bro sitting on the couch. English is sitting on the floor next to him and John is sitting at the opposite end of Dirk. 

 

_You suddenly find yourself wishing you had more places to sit in your living room._

 

John spots you and pats the empty space between him and Dirk. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you as you make your way over to the couch. You sit down and pretend nothing is fucking strange about any of this even though it is. 

 

You’re thankful when English grabs the remote and finds a bad horror movie for the four of you to watch. You’re a little less thankful when he turns off the lights and you feel Bro’s hand creeping up one of your thighs... and John’s fingers gliding up the other one.

 

You shift in your seat, hoping that they’ll both get the message, but knowing pretty damn well that they won’t. 

 

_They don’t._

 

Finally, you lean forward, resting your arms against your thighs and crushing their hands beneath them. The position is awkward and uncomfortable, but whatever. It’s better than John realizing that he isn’t the only person attempting to grope you. 

 

Bro takes the hint and eventually moves his hand, but John keeps his there. More importantly, he takes his free hand and trails it down your back until his fingers are burying themselves inside the back of your pants. 

 

You sit up, back rigidly straight in surprise before leaning back, smashing his hand between your back and the sofa cushion. 

 

Of course, all this does is free his other hand, which immediately goes back to trailing its way up your thigh again. 

 

_You’re really starting to doubt that whole not-a-homosexal thing he mentioned once before._

 

The rest of the night is spent with the four of you watching movies. Bro seems to be content with tangling his fingers in English’s hair and John has silently given you an ultimatum between him tickling your thigh or you agreeing to hold his hand. You choose the hand holding. 

 

You like it. 

 

_You just won’t openly admit it._  

 

In the middle of the second movie, John’s cell phone ring. It’s his dad. You half-listen to a particularly animated conversation between the two of them that deals a lot with the baking of a clown cake and other ridiculous confusing Egbert stuff. The only thing you fully understand is that John’s dad wants him to come home. 

 

“I’ll give you a ride,” English says. “I should scamper off myself. Work in the morning and all.” He stands up and Bro stands up with him. “Bye, Strider,” he says, and Bro grabs him by the hem of his shirt and pulls him forward and into a kiss that reminds you of the one he gave you in the kitchen. 

 

“Later, English,” Bro says against English’s lips. 

 

“Bye, Dave,” John says as he stands up from his place on the sofa. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

 

“Are you threatening me?” You say and he rolls his eyes at you. You watch him and English gather up English’s bags and disappear out the front door, shutting it behind them as they leave. 

 

Not more than a minute goes past before someone knocks on the door and Bro looks at you, expecting you to get it like you’re some live-in butler. You stare blankly at him before getting up to answer the door. It’s John. 

 

“What’d you forget, Egbe--” He grabs you by your collar and jerks for you forward into a kiss that feels like he’s been waiting his entire fucking life to give you. For a moment you forget that you’re standing in your doorway. You forget that your neighbors could be watching, forget that Bro is standing somewhere behind you. All you can think about is how soft and warm John’s lips are against yours, how nice he smells, and how much you missed him. 

 

You kiss him back with a level of passion that would have never transferred properly through Skype and its delayed as hell messages. 

 

“You never kiss me like that,” Bro says and John chuckles against your lips. 

 

You’re glad he finds it humorous because you’re fucking horrified. 

 

John reluctantly pulls away from you and smirks. “See you tomorrow, Dave.”

 

“Later, Egbert.”

 

You watch him walk down the hall and then down stairs until you can no longer see him. You step back inside your apartment and shut the door. Bro is standing directly behind you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes are most definitely locked directly on you. 

 

When you can no longer stand the awkwardness of it all and open your mouth to speak, he walks away. 

 

_You’re so unbelievably confused._

 

You decide to take a shower. You doubt you actually need one, but you happen to think that you do your best thinking naked with hot water splashing all over you and you really you need to figure this shit out. 

 

You stand with your back facing the spray of the water and let it massage muscles you didn’t realize were sore from tension. You really don’t know what’s going on with Bro. Sometimes you wished he’d just say whatever it is he has to say so that you don’t spend forever in the shower trying to figure out what it is. 

 

You wonder if maybe he likes John. It doesn’t really make that much sense, but John sort of looks like Jake and Bro has always been attracted to dark haired dorks in glasses. 

 

_Maybe he wants John for himself._

 

No, that can’t be right. You’re being stupid. 

 

But still...

 

_Maybe he’s jealous over John._

 

You spend too much time thinking and eventually have to remind yourself to actually wash up before the water runs cold. You turn off the faucet, wrap a towel around your waist, and gather up your clothes. You’re supposed to go to Bro’s room to finish what you started, but you decide to go to your own room first. 

 

When you open the door to your bedroom, Bro is lying on your bed, staring up at the ceiling. “So much for that promise,” he says. 

 

“You didn’t give me much of a chance to keep it.” 

 

“Come here,” he says, and you comply, not because you’re a huge fan of him telling you what to do or anything like that. You’re just ready to get some answers. 

 

You walk over to the bed, your hand gripping the top of the towel, and stare down at him. “What’s your deal, anyway?” You ask. You regret not rehearsing the conversation in your head. 

 

Bro flips his position so that he’s on his stomach with his head facing the foot of the bed. In other words, his face is about six inches away from the towel you have firmly wrapped around you.  “Don’t have one.” He reaches up and snatches your towel off before you can stop him. 

 

“Okay, but you’ve been acting weir-- Ahh...” 

 

You knew that was going to happen.

 

You want to finish you were going to say, but Bro’s mouth is distracting you. You’re pretty sure you’re incapable of having a conversation. 

 

_You’re having a hard time just standing up._

 

You run your fingers through his hair, tugging gently when he glides his mouth further down your cock. You know you won’t be able to finish your sentence, but you make an attempt at speaking, anyway. 

 

“Bro...”

 

One word. Well, that’s downright pathetic. 

 

“Hm?”

 

The vibrations make you hiss and pull his hair harder. 

 

Bro pulls back and stares up at you with that unreadable expression again. He’s so much better than you with that. He doesn’t even need to wear his dumb shades like you do. You’re always wondering what he’s thinking, always trying to analyze how he’ll react. He shifts so he’s on his knees and reaches forward to grab your wrist. He wants you on the bed with him, so he tugs you forward. 

 

You let him. 

 

He shoves you down against the bed and doesn’t hesitate to situate himself between your legs. You don’t think it’s all that fair that you’re naked and he’s still in his boxers and you would voice that but his lips find yours and he kisses you. It’s much softer this time, not nearly as dominating as the one in the kitchen. His nails gently scratch their way down your stomach, tickling sensitive spots until he wraps his hand around your cock. 

 

Much to your displeasure, the kiss doesn’t last very long. He’s opted for your neck, sucking and biting and making you whimper with each stroke of his hand or tug of his teeth. 

 

You rock your hips up, fucking his hand while his mouth makes it way past your collarbone and down your chest. His tongue swirls over your nipple and he captures it with his teeth, rolling it gently, which somehow has the effect of making your violently thrust your hips upward. 

 

_You don’t know how much more of this you can stand._

 

His lips continue on, ghosting down your abs, leaving a warm, wet, trail where his tongue dragged along your skin. You’re panting by the time his mouth is hovered over your cock and he exhales, his breath fanning across the tip. If you weren’t so turned on, you’d be embarrassed by the way your cock twitches and attempts to seek more of that heat. 

 

You curse out of frustration when he chooses to suck on your inner thigh rather than your dick. You never realized how sensitive that area was until he nips at it and you cry out, _loudly_. Your eyes are closed, so you’re surprised when you feel his fingers bumping against your lips. You’re more than happy to part them and suck each finger into your mouth. 

 

You don’t care about your pride for the moment and you fucking _whine_ when he pulls away even if it’s only to retrieve the lube he’s stashed in your nightstand for occasions such as these. 

 

He tosses the tube onto your stomach and kneels in front of you. You watch, greedily taking in every bit of him as he slowly pulls down his boxers. The elastic waistband slides down his hips inch by inch and his cock juts out, rigid and dripping and your legs spread wider of their own accord. 

 

After a bit of maneuvering, he gets his boxers off and plucks the tube from off your stomach. It isn’t until he’s pumping his own cock with his slick palm that you realize the two of you have never went this far without Jake around. 

 

You feel like there’s something you should say, but you can’t think of anything. And even if you could, a second later Bro is sliding inside of you and you’re sure you would have forgotten it, especially when grabs either of your legs, fingers digging softly into calves and pushes them up and back. 

 

The sudden change of positions is a surprise, but the unexpected shift of his hips is enough to make you shout, which you do. “Fuck!” 

 

He’s deep and hard and precise and you can’t control the way you cry out and grip helplessly at the sheets. You want to be quiet, but the signal that transfers thoughts from your brain to your mouth has been temporarily obliterated. 

 

Bro slows down his thrusts, but they’re just as deep, shoving his cock inside of you and hitting that spot that scrambles all of your thoughts and randomly makes you remember words you were taught during your three years of Spanish in high school. 

 

Maravilloso

 

_You’re pretty fucking sure you’re about to cum._

 

Bro brings your legs together in front of his chest and holds them with one arm while he continues to pound into you. The position is great, but not deep enough to push you over the edge. 

 

_You have a feeling that Bro knows this._

 

You’re a hundred percent sure of it when you attempt to stroke your own cock, but Bro knocks your hand away, leaving your cock stiff and neglected and begging for attention. 

 

You’ve never doubted Bro’s stamina, but he feels the need to prove it to you. You don’t know how long you’ve been fucking, but you need to cum, _desperately_. 

 

He just won’t fucking let you. 

 

“Bro, please...” you pant out. You’re so not above begging right now. 

 

“Please what?” Bro asks and he flips you to the side. He straddles one of you legs while holding the other one high into the air and continues to slam into you. You reach down, you hand quickly making its way to your cock, but Bro catches you and smacks it away so hard that it stings. 

 

“Tell me what you want,” he says, and you want to say, “you first” but you don’t. Instead you cry out and beg him to let you cum when he nips at the back of your leg. The moment he touches your cock, you’re moaning, and thrusting, and cumming--spilling against your thigh and dripping onto your sheets.

 

Bro groans and hisses softly and you can actually read the expression on his face for a change. It’s one of pure pleasure and you’re the cause of it. 

 

_You like the feeling that gives you._

 

He cums not too long afterward, jerking and shuddering against you. You hear him chuckle from not being able to control himself and you’d laugh if you weren’t too busy trying to catch you breath. 

 

He slides out of you and the two of you wince from sensitivity. He lies down next to you and rests his head on the back of your shoulder. “Made a mess in there,” he says, voice sleepy and sort of endearing, you guess. “You may want to handle that.”

 

You blush and shove him away before climbing off the bed. You’re exhausted, but you don’t necessarily want to fall asleep without taking care of _stuff_.

 

You make your way into the bathroom and switch on the light. You stare at yourself in the mirror, taking in the flushed color of your skin and the hickeys that John gave you. One on one side and two on the other. 

 

No, wait... 

 

You’re pretty certain John was only able to give you _one_. English interrupted any other possible hickeys. So that would mean that Bro would have had to given you the others. One of them isn’t nearly as dark as the other one, so that would be the one he just gave you back in your bedroom. So where did the other one...

 

Oh, that’s right. In the kitchen. He must have given you one while English and John were rolling around on you floor like idiots and--

 

Wait. 

 

_Wait._  

 

**Wait.**  

 

What if John noticed it? _Did_ he notice it? How could he not have? It’s on the opposite side of the side he left _his_ hickey on. Okay, it isn’t a big deal. He probably didn’t pay any attention to it. It’s not that big. 

 

No, you’re fooling yourself.

 

_It’s huge_. 

 

How could he not have noticed it?

 

Your eyes widen with realization and you plant your foot on top of the closed toilet lid and look down. There’s another massive hickey on your inner thigh, courtesy of Bro. 

 

And it finally hits you. 

 

Bro isn’t jealous over John. He’s jealous over _you_. 

 

And he’s left the marks to prove it. 

 

Your name is Dave Strider and your deviant activities have finally caught up with you.  


	7. Young Strider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You had no idea.

You wake up in an empty bed. 

You’re not surprised by this. Bro hardly ever sleeps in, even after nights like the one the two of you just had. There’s a glass of water on your nightstand and you almost smirk, thinking that’s something pretty considerate and gay for Bro to do— but the five dollar bill next to it makes you glare instead. 

You’re worth way more than five bucks. 

_Maybe you should start charging him for your services._

You smell food, more specifically, you smell waffles, which means that English is there. You climb out of bed and throw on a pair of shorts and a shirt, groaning from the soreness in your back thanks to Bro believing that you’re some type of fucking human pretzel.

When you feel you’re presentable enough to parade around your house, you drag yourself out of your bedroom and into the living room where you spot Bro and English making out on the sofa. They don’t seem to notice you, so you watch them for a few seconds. Bro is straddling English’s lap, his arms draped over English’s shoulders and kneading into his back. You hear English moan and watch as he reaches up, grips the back of Bro’s hair, yanks his head back and latches onto his neck, all Dracula-like, making Bro hiss and grind down against him. 

You hold back a groan and force yourself to walk past them, jumping slightly and whipping your head around when you feel someone pinch your ass. You don’t know who to accuse because they’re still making out as if it never happened. 

_Assholes_. 

Yawning, you step into the kitchen and your eyes widen. There, sitting at the table, wearing his dumb Ghostbuster’s shirt and drinking a glass of milk like a giant baby is no other than John motherfucking Egbert. 

You try to step back out before he spots you. 

_Too late._

“Hey, Dave,” John says after he’s put the glass of milk down. “You’re finally awake.”

“I thought you said you’d call first,” you blurt out. It takes every bit of your willpower not to reach up and cover the hickeys that you  _know_  are littered all over your neck. 

“I did,” John says. “Dirk answered your phone and said you were sleeping and for me to just catch a ride with Jake since he was coming over here anyway.”

“Oh.” 

That’s not much of a response, but you have other questions you need to ask. Important questions. Questions that will gauge whether or not John knows you spent last night getting fucked by your brother.

Okay, no. 

  
You need to calm down. 

_Deep breaths._

You walk over to the refrigerator and grab out a small bottle of apple juice. A few sips of ice cold aj will calm your nerves. It’ll help you think straight— yes, yes, ironic. You don’t have time for irony right now. 

_You have an interview to conduct._

How long have you been here?” You ask, trying your best to sound as casual as possible. You open your bottle of apple juice and take a sip, hoping to enhance the false sense of apathy you have going on. 

“Uh, not very,” John says. “About twenty minutes or something. When I first got here, your Bro handed me a cup of water and asked me to put it in your room.”

You’ve never in your life choked on apple juice, but you suppose it’s a first time for everything. 

“Jesus, Dave!” John jumps up from his chair and rushes over to pat you on the back as you sputter and spit apple juice out onto the table. 

It takes a second for you to breathe normally and without coughing, but you manage to not die from choking on your favorite drink. 

“Are you okay?” John asks and you attempt to brush your choking episode off. 

“I’m good,” you say and you snatch up a few paper towels and wipe up the mess you made. “Be right back. Shower.”

You leave the kitchen, resisting the urge not to run out of there and into your bedroom. You need to make sure Bro didn’t purposefully leave any clues out for John to find. Bro and English are still making out in the living room and you decide you’ll go straight to the source for your information. 

You walk up behind Bro and raise your hand, you’re prepared to yank a fistful of his spiky hair clean off his scalp for trying to sabotage what you have going on with John. 

Wait. What  _do_  you have going on with John?

_You’ll figure it out later._

Bro jerks away before you even get the chance to grip his hair and grabs you by your wrist. You let out a startled cry as you’re yanked onto the couch, wedged between Bro and English, your feet sticking up and out and hanging over the arm of the sofa. 

“Can I help you with something?” Bro asks. 

“Get the fuck off,” you growl and attempt to pull yourself up. 

“Right now?” Bro asks. “You sure you want John seeing that?” He places his hand on your chest and his fingers begin to explore, walking down your abs and tugging at the hem of your shirt.  

“Bro, stop,” you plead and try harder to get up. “Help me out, English.”

“Dirk,” English says, like he’s scolding a child. “Quit your tomfoolery and leave Dave alone.”

“Make me,” Bro says, but English doesn’t reply. He just stares at Bro and winks at him and the next thing you know, you’re being shoved back to the floor and English and Bro are up and making their way into Bro’s room. 

_Fucking assholes._

You get back to your room and look around. There doesn’t seem to be anything lying out and about. No lube or anything like that, so you’re pretty much safe. You snatch the sheets off the bed and do a quick, half ass, job of putting some new ones on it before finding something to wear for the rest of the day. 

When you step out into the hallway, you almost end up crashing into John who apparently had been on his way to your room. You reach blindly behind you for your doorknob and shut your door.

Time to act natural. 

_You don’t even know what that is anymore._

“You sure you’re okay?” John asks. 

“Calm yourself, Egbert. I’m not an infant.”

“No, you just choked and spit apple juice all over the table like one.”

“And I let you watch it free of charge. You should be thanking me.”

“You’re such a loser, Dave,” John says and he walks forward, which wouldn’t have been a big deal, except forward means that he walks into  _you_. 

“Dude,” you say, as your back presses against your bedroom door. John leans forward and you panic and turn your head to the side— the side with all the hickeys  _not_  given to you by him.

_God fucking damn it._

Judging by the way he sucks on your neck, John doesn’t seem to notice them. 

Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with him? Are his eyes really  _that_  bad?

You gasp when he tilts his head up and bites down gently on your ear. “Dude,” you breathe out again. “I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.”

“Yeah,” John murmurs against your ear. “I can kind of tell,” he says and chuckles as his nails graze your sides, tickling your skin and causing you to moan and lean against him. You want to continue, want to know exactly where things will lead if the two of you keep this up. 

_But you really need to take that shower._

A moan comes from Bro’s room and it distracts John long enough for you to gently shove him away. “Shower, dude,” you say and he rolls his eyes before opening up your bedroom door and stepping inside. 

A few quick steps get you into the bathroom and you’re smart enough to lock the door once you’re inside. You undress, ignoring the way your heart races when you think about the fact that John is in your room and that the two of you are probably going to… 

Yeah. 

You probably shouldn’t think about that right now. 

_It may lead you to doing more in the shower than you had previously planned._

You groan quietly, allowing the rush of water to spray over you. Grabbing your washcloth, you lather it up with soap and try to think about anything other than John. You reach down, scrubbing at your inner thigh and frown. 

_The hickey there certainly helps keep your mind off of John for the moment._

How would you even begin to explain something like that?

You sigh and continue washing up. There’s nothing you can do about it, so it’s pointless to dwell. Hopefully, John won’t bother to ask about it, or even better, he won’t notice it. 

_Not noticing your hickeys seems to be something that he’s exceptionally good at._

You finish your shower and quickly dress yourself, making sure to brush your teeth and hoping that you won’t seem as anxious to John as you do to yourself. You toss your clothes into the dirty clothes hamper even though they aren’t dirty and then you take a deep breath. 

_You’re ready._

You step out of the bathroom just in time to see English and Bro heading down the hall. 

“‘Sup?” You say to English when he stops in front of you and grins. 

“We’re off to an adventure,” English says. “And by gum, if I can be so bold to say, it looks like you’re off to one as well.” He nods his head over at your bedroom door where you can see John lying on your bed staring up at the ceiling. “Hey, fun, young Strider,” he says before winking at you and continuing down the hall. 

Bro stares at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he shrugs. “Listen, Dave,” he begins, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I know what you and Egbert are going to do the moment we leave, but there’s something you should probably know about him.” 

You don’t know where the sudden irritation comes from, but it’s there, bubbling up inside of you. 

_You’re starting to think that it’s been there all along._

“You know what, save it, Bro,” you say, your words angrily whispered out. “You’ve been trying to fuck this up since the beginning. I don’t know why you hate the idea of me and John so much. You get  _Jake_ , you get  _me_ , what the fuck do I get? Am I supposed to forever be a third wheel to the two of you or what?”

Bro’s face is back to being void of emotion. “See ya’ later,” he says before walking off, not bothering to argue with you. You discover that you honestly don’t give a shit. 

You wait in the hallway until you hear the front door shut. 

Now it’s just you and John. 

_Finally_. 

You step back into your room and find John still lying on your bed. He looks up at you and smirks before rolling onto his stomach. “Did you remember to brush your teeth?”

You stick your middle finger up at him and he laughs. 

“So…” you begin, and clear your throat. “What do you want to do?”

John shrugs. “Whatever you want to do.”

“We could watch t.v.,” you suggest even though television is the furthest thing from your mind. You walk over to the bed and sit down next to the t.v. remote. “I think there’s a stupid horror movie marathon—” Your words are cut off when John leans forward and kisses you. 

“Or we could do this instead” John says against your lips. 

“Might be a better idea,” you murmur and kiss him again. 

Somehow kissing leads to your shirt being pulled up and off, tossed onto the floor next to your bed, You wish he’d come over later in the day, when you could turn the lights out and hide all of your hickeys, wish you’d had woken up and snatched your phone from Bro’s hand. But you can’t travel through time. 

_Not like you can in your dreams._

John leans against you, the weight of his body forcing you to lower yourself against the bed. He continues to kiss you, his lips warm and wet as they press gently against yours. You gasp when you feel his fingers gliding against your hips, tugging at your jeans, silently asking you if it’s okay if he pulls them down. 

_Your response is to wedge your hands between the two of your bodies and unbutton them._

He breaks apart the kiss, but he keeps his eyes on you, watching you as your boxers and jeans slip down your hips, thighs, legs, inch by inch, until you’re fully revealing yourself to him, your cock hard and desperate for attention. 

John kisses you again, but it’s merely a peck before he continues south, kissing a straight line down your chest and your abs before veering off to your thigh. 

You hold your breath, silently playing out the scenario for when he moves on to the other thigh and sees the hickey. What will you say? Will you lie? Tell the truth?

_Would he even believe you?_

He sucks on your inner thigh, making your breath hitch and your fingers tangle in his hair before abandoning it altogether, opting to slide his glasses off instead. You reach over, blindly extending out your arm and feeling around until your hand bumps against the nightstand where you set them safely on top of just as he switches over to your other thigh. 

He pauses then, the seconds feeling like hours before he leans down and nips at your thigh, sucking hard enough to make you cry out and buck your hips. 

He doesn’t say anything, no light-hearted or taunting jokes before he slides his mouth around your cock and sucks, moaning and humming around the tip, his blue eyes twinkling as he looks up at you. 

He swallows more of you cock, going further and further and it feels so good and familiar, like when English does it. 

You silently curse yourself. 

_English should be the last person on your mind right now._

You can  _feel_  yourself blushing, so you cover your face and moan into your cupped hands and hope that they aren’t as loud as you think they are. 

John pulls his mouth off your cock and licks down the underside instead, and you groan, you hands once again finding their place in his hair where they pull and tug, hips bucking gently, eyes closed, letting your body experience the sensations without your vision processing every detail. 

You can’t help but gasp when his tongue dips lower. Your fingers tighten in his hair. 

_Okay, maybe that was an accident._

You’ll keep your eyes closed to spare each other the embarrassment. 

Except it happens again. 

_And again._

“Fuck, John,” you moan, as he grips you by the back of either of your thighs and spreads your legs wide apart. His tongue slides in and out of you, dragging up and flicking, lapping greedily even when your legs attempt to squeeze shut. 

“Dave,” he says, chuckling, his fingers digging into the back of either of your thighs as he spreads them wide again. “Stop doing that,” he murmurs before flicking his tongue again. 

“Fuck,” you whimper. 

_It’s pretty much all you can do at this point._

When John wraps his hand around your cock and begins to pump, long even strokes combined with his tongue sliding in and out of you, you have to yank hard on his hair to get him to stop and to keep from cumming. 

“S-Shit,” you stammer, your legs quivering and your breaths sharp and uneven. 

“You okay?” John teases you and you’re too busy trying to calm your breathing to glare at him, so you point over at the nightstand and hope he gets the message. 

_He does._

Of course he chuckles at your inability to properly voice your demands, but he still reaches over to grab the lube out of your nightstand, pulling too hard on the drawer just as he opens it and cringing when the entire drawer falls out and onto the floor. 

“Oops.”

“Real smooth,” you say as you wait for him to lean down and grab the lube off the floor. When he does, you snatch it from his hands and stare up at him. “Lose the clothes, Egbert.”

John makes it his mission to strip off his clothes as slowly as possible, making you growl with impatience before you’re reaching up to yank them off of him yourself. When he’s completely naked, just like you, you open the bottle of lube, pour some into your palm and massage it into his cock. You’d planned to suck him off, to show him just how talented you are at that specific aspect, but you’re too turned on now, too fed up with imagining how it’ll feel to have him rock hard inside of you. 

“Fuck, come on,” you whisper, and you grab him by the arm and pull him down, spreading your legs so that he can easily slide between them. 

“Come on what?” John says and he grabs the back of your thighs like before and raises your legs into the air and begins to slowly slide inside of you. “Your stomach? Your chest?  _Your_   _face_?”

You cry out when he pulls back and snaps his hips forward, but you have no fucking clue whether it’s from him finally being inside of you or from what he just said. 

_You can’t let him upstage you._

“Fuck you,” you breathe out. “In my mouth.”

“Mmm, fuck, Dave,” John moans as he thrusts his hips, grinding his cock inside of you, his hands still on your thighs, nails gently scratching at your skin. 

You raise your legs even more, using your stomach muscles to help lift them high enough to rest them against John’s shoulders. John slams into you then, making you both cry out, your hands grabbing and pulling at the sheets, quickly messing up the bed that you half made up in the first place. 

The banter between the two of you stops and the only sounds that fill your room are heavy breathing and your moans, louder than the constant squeak of your bedsprings. You whimper John’s name when he reaches down and grasps your cock, his fumbling strokes not quite syncing up with his thrusts for a moment until he finally gets it right. 

“God, Dave,” he moans and kisses you, the weight of his body heavy against you. The one arm he uses to balance himself slips slightly and he falls forward, his cock shoving as deep as it will go inside of you, the pleasure and hint of lingering pain from the night before is enough to make you tense and and cry out against his lips, your hips rocking, fucking him and his hand until you cum, toes curling and calf muscles like heated rocks pressed against his shoulders. 

“Fuck,” John growls then, his hand sliding from beside your head to the edge of the bed where it grips the mattress. The other hand joins the first, smearing your cum in a trail along the sheets and he uses the rim of the bed as leverage to rock into you, making you scream, your body sensitive, shuddering below him until he’s cursing and cumming as well, hips slamming into you almost violently while he moans tiny, broken, versions of your name and kisses every part of you that his lips can reach. 

The two of you stay that way, trying your best to calm your breathing until you realize that your breathing will never calm because he still has you practically doubled over. 

“Get off,” you groan and you use your legs to nudge him over and over, repeatedly until he groans and flops onto his back. 

“Wow,” he says. 

“Yeah,” you agree, before adding, “I’m seriously starting to doubt that you aren’t a homosexual, John.”

“I’m  _not_  a homosexual,” John says. “I’m not an  _anything_  because I don’t like labels.”

“Fair enough,” you mutter. 

You lie in silence, listening to John’s breathing and waiting for him to say something else. After ten minutes, you decide that you’ve waited long enough, but when you attempt a conversation with him, you realize that he’s fallen asleep. 

“Egbert, you shit,” you mumble before leaning over to stare down at him. You can’t stop yourself from smirking as you lean down, prepared to kiss him while he’s sleeping, but then you spot it, fresh and bright and red, embedded into his shoulder like a tattoo and you wonder how you didn’t notice it before. 

_Teeth marks._

John has teeth marks on his shoulder and you know for a fucking fact that  _you_ didn’t give them to him. 

You end up lying in bed next to John for three hours, watching the rise and fall of his chest and asking yourself questions that you don’t have the answer to. You try not to be jealous. You have sex with  Bro and English, or at least you  _used_  to. 

_You’re not sure if that’ll be happening anymore after snapping at Bro the way you did._

Speaking of Bro and English, you heard them both come back from their adventure nearly an hour and a half ago, but neither of them said anything to you. Of course, you’ve been lying in bed confused about your entire life, so you suppose that could be a reason why. 

You think back to the conversation you had with Bro out in the hallways. Bro had been trying to tell you something about John.

_You wish you would have listened._

But maybe, if you grovel enough, he’ll still tell you.

_Fuck_. 

You slide out of your bed and quietly pull your pants back on before sneaking out of your bedroom and into Bro’s. 

_You don’t bother knocking._

Bro and English are lying in his bed, sleeping much like John is back in your own bedroom. You take a deep breath before walking over to Bro where you lean down and nudge him. “Bro, wake up.”

“You’re stupid if you think I’d be asleep in the first place with you stomping in here like a god damned elephant. What do you want, Dave?”

You sigh before answering. No point in beating around the bush. 

“What were you trying to tell me earlier?” You ask. 

“Not important.”

“Bro, come on, please.” You hate to beg him, but you need to know. Is this just another one of those cases where everyone has someone, a  _main_  someone, except you? “I saw…” You bite your lip nervously. “I saw teeth marks on John’s shoulder, so I was just wondering did you know… I mean…” You bite your lip, nervously. “Was it you?”

Bro groans and shifts onto his side, staring up at your with sleepy eyes. “No,” he says groggily before burying his face back against the pillow. 

“Then who was it?” You say, completely confused as to who would have spent long enough time with John to leave those serious teeth marks on his shoulder. He’s barely been home for two days and both those days he’s been with  _you_. Of course, you can’t account for those times where he he hasn’t been.

Fuck. 

_You just need to know._

“Who was it, Bro?”  

English turns over, eyes barely open, hair wild and sticking up in various directions. He rests his head on Bro’s side and yawns. 

“It was me.”

And you can do nothing but stare at him, a tsunami of realization flooding your mind and drowning your thoughts. John and English are  _cousins_. Cousins who have startling similar techniques when it comes to making you moan. And now you’re realizing that you never once questioned why English wasn’t uncomfortable with the fact that you and Bro have sex with or without him. 

_Because he does the same thing with John._

And Bro had been trying to explain that to you before you snapped at him. 

Holy shit. 

_Holy shit._

**_Holy shit._ **

Words cannot describe how turned on you are right now. 

**Author's Note:**

> This ridiculous AU fic is going to eventually be: dirk/jake/dave, and then jake/dave, and then dirk/dave, and then this weird sort of dave/john, and then more instances of dirk/jake/dave in various elements, and then dave/john, and then implied dirk/jake/dave/john, and THEN it ends.


End file.
